Pride and Prejudice and The Attack of the Goblins
by Jiang Qing
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that if you see a woman clad in black leather and in the possession of two large firearms, you must run as fast as you can in the opposite direction. Pride and Prejudice with a twist, R&R!
1. Mr Bennet MUST Kill His Wife

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that if you see a woman clad in black leather and in the possession of two large firearms, you must run as fast as you can in the opposite direction. In times such as these, when bombs and guns are the new toys of the kingdom, to be a top assassin is very important indeed. Not only are you paid a large sum for merely getting blood on your hands, but it is also a delight to revel in that glorious feeling of a new kill.

"My dear Mr Bennet," said his lady to him one day "have you heard that Netherfield Park is occupied again?"

Mr Bennet replied that he had not, and continued to polish his handgun, of which was a very superior model. He found that although a katana or dagger was far more a satisfactory weapon, a gun got the job done far more quickly and easily- lots of money for a minimum effort.

"But it is," returned she, "For Scarlett Sakaki has just informed me of the news."

Mr Bennet made no answer, but began to whistle loudly, as if he was trying to block out the hideous whines of a lone beast in pain.

"Do you not want to know who has taken it?" cried his wife impatiently, her high pitched screams reverberating throughout the entire house. Windows shook in their frames and Mr Bennet's desk wobbled precariously.

"Woman, please. You know how I feel about Scarlett Sakaki- she is the most undeveloped assassin I ever saw. Her skill with bo-staff is incredibly poor and I feel that she could be given any weapon to fight me with and I'd still beat her with my bare hands. Anything that that darned woman says is an utter travesty. If you insist on prattling in such a foolish manner, I suggest you go elsewhere."

This was invitation enough.

"Why my dear, Scarlett Sakaki says that Netherfield is taken by a young man with a large fortune from the North of England! He came down from Manchester in a _beautiful_ carriage with six white horses- six! Imagine!- and I heard that he has a wonderful skill with a scythe!"

"The scythe? That weapon has never been my forte. I must say I'm impressed. What is his name?"

"Bingley. A nice young man with a lovely fortune! How wonderful a prospect for our girls!"

"How so? Will he train them in the way of the blade? Will he teach them how to never miss a target using only a single bullet?"

"My dear Mr Bennet!" cried his wife, "you can be so tiresome! You know very well of my design!"

"And, pray, what design would that be?"

"That the new Mr Bingley will take a shine to one of our precious daughters, fall in love then proceed to marry her! Besides, in answer to your previous comment-"

"Let me assure you, no answer is required."

"-then no, Mr Bingley will not be sharing his mastery of the weapons. He is rather more special than that. He's… He's…"

Despite feigning disinterest, curiosity had sparked inside Mr Bennet, and he was suddenly eager to hear about the reputed abilities of this young man. "Speak, wench!"

"He's a man of magic- one who has studied and still lectures at the Academy of Abracadabra."

"He's a wizard?"

"That is so. Imagine if he _does_ decide to marry one of our girls! How lucky we will be as a family! Rich, charming and magical too!"

"I see," Mr Bennet buried his face back to his paper, a sure symbol that the conversation was over. Mrs Bennet however, although not quick with tongue, made up for it with perseverance and volume. If she wished that her husband paid a visit to such a man in the company of their five daughters- and therefore five prospective wives- then she would not cease with her speech until Mr Bennet was fully persuaded to pay a call to his home.

"I see? Mr Bennet do you not wish to speak a word more? You _must_ visit Mr Bingley as soon as he comes and take our daughters with you! It's a complete necessity!"

"I see no occasion for that. And besides, what if we perceive him to be not as skilled in the deadly arts as he's been spoken of? In the name of honour I'd have to challenge him to an duel, and if my daughters were to see me shed blood in front of their faces, they may not be too pleased. Moreover, the blood may leak onto on to one of their dresses- a shame to waste such fine muslin."

"Mr Bennet! What do you talk of? Consider your daughters!"

"Consider my daughters! I am doing nothing but saving them from a fate that is worse than death! Marriage? Children? It's all so old fashioned! Women are so preoccupied with the home that they forget the beauty of an axe splitting a skull, or a katana slicing through flesh! Too many times I see one of my daughters lounging around the house, mooning over some foolish youth! With the exception of Lizzy of course- she has the skills of a true shuriken master."

"Such nonsense you speak Mr Bennet! Lizzy isn't at _all_ better than any of the others! Think of your daughters! Jane has far more skill than any other with the dagger, and Lydia is positively excellent with the Chinese fan!"

"Ah, but neither of them practise as much as my little Lizzy, who in skill and talent far exceeds them all. When I earn enough money to send Lizzy to the Academy of Abracadabra, I shall. I am confident that she will excel and be the best assassin with magical power that this country will ever have seen."

"Why do you speak of sending Lizzy and no one else? Mr Bennet that is the harshest, most unfair…"

"Silence! The others shall go too, and soon. It's just that my aspirations for Lizzy surpass those of the other four. Whilst they foolishly conjure new dresses and the finest make up, stir up love spells to capture their Prince, Lizzy will use her magic for her flexibility, her strength, her deadly aim. If she had been male I could not have been prouder of her."

"Mr Bennet, how can abuse your own children in such a way? You delight in vexing me. You have no compassion for my poor nerves."

"You mistake me my dear, I have high respect for your nerves. Nothing apart from the mere mention of them can make me yawn in such a fashion, and no other thing can so effectively persuade me to step outside and plunge a dagger into my heart. Just the mention of such nerves make me violently sick, which is what has made my figure keep so trim for the past few years. I congratulate your nerves, I have much to thank them for."

Mr Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve and self discipline, as well as commendable skill both at sorcery and the art of instant death, that three and twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. _Her _mind was less difficult to develop. She was a foolish woman with no skill of the martial arts, and her magic was so poor that she rather pretend she had no ability rather than the poor fare she had to offer. Unlike Mr Bennet who thrived on his foes (more about them later) Mrs Bennet continued to be terrified, and kept herself in the house, in which she was determined all women belonged. When discontented she fancied herself nervous, and when nervous- a constant state- verbal diarrhoea dribbled from her mouth in the same way as dung from a cow's backside.

Mr Bennet believed in power, strength, discipline and a life where one strove to be the best and top of their game. Mrs Bennet believed in covering her daughters in lace and shoving them up an aisle.


	2. Faeryland, Occupation: Inverted

Mr Bennet was among the earliest of those who waited on Mr Bingley. He had always intended on visiting him, despite assuring Mrs Bennet that he had no intention; and on meeting him, he was happy to realise that the gossip was as good as it's word, and he did not have to duel Mr Bingley after all. Fully aware that neither his wife or his daughters knew of his digression, Mr Bennet addressed the matter subtly, aware of the potential scale of over-reaction. Observing his second daughter employed in stitching a new patch on her dobok, he suddenly addressed her with:

"I'm sure Mr Bingley will spar with you Lizzy."

"None of us will _ever_ be able to spar with Mr Bingley," said her mother resentfully, "seeing as that you will not visit, and it is unlikely that he knows we exist."

"_You_ will never spar with him, no," replied Mr Bennet, staring rather fixedly at the ceiling, "As your skills are so poor, he is likely to behead you with a single strike."

"But none of our _daughters_ will be able to spar with him!" cried his wife, leaping to her feet with obvious distress. "We shall never see Mr Bingley! And when one of our daughters is left over and still here Mr Bennet, let it lie on your shoulders that it was all your fault! She could have been Mr Bingley's wife, but instead we may as well hand her over to the goblins!"

"Mama!" Said Elizabeth, "how cruel of you! To hand one of us over to the goblins if we are not married by the time we're thirty! You forget that we'll see Mr Bingley at the next tournament."

"So?" Mrs Bennet pulled her handkerchief from her pocket and mopped her face with it in order to catch her tears of frustration. "It's all you will be good for!"

Since the time long ago when the planet Earth had collided with a particularly large and powerful meteorite, life in the world as it was previously known had been transformed to one not of reality, but of fairytale. All those creatures of fiction that the wise people said did not exist- but they in fact secretly feared- had come to life. Wizards became as common as sparrows, and each village had at least one witch. Brightly coloured faeries and sprites danced in the meadows, unicorns grazed in the forests, pink castles dotted the landscape. But not all changes brought handfuls of pleasure. The witches were wily creatures that would cheat one out of any money he had in the exchange of a faulty magic trick. Dwarves had a particularly spiteful mentality and the dragons were a source of great terror. Worst of all were the goblins. After the change, first to rule the land was the Faery Queen. She had a beautiful countenance, and delightful manners with feet as swift as the wind skipping across grass. All was sunny for a short while, until what became known as The Goblin Revolt. Disgusted with how the country was being run, with an emphasis on beauty and nature, goblins plotted against the Faery Queen and her assistants. Sure enough, when the time came the carnage was terrible- the Faery Queen was defeated with ease and the goblins started their monarchy. All of Britain was in chaos as the goblins chose to feed their own selfish desires instead of thinking of the people. Something needed to be done, and unknown to the goblins the people and the good were starting a rebellion of their own. Wizardry, assassination- Mr Bennet was determined that his daughters were to excel in both.

"There will be no handing over to any goblins." Mr Bennet looked at his wife and each of his daughters in turn. "For it will not be necessary. There is a ball tomorrow."

"Then surely it will be too late to make our introductions!" Mrs Bennet's face had returned to it's blotchy discolour as her nerves revisited their usual fraught state. "How I hate the name Bingley, and I never want more mention of the name under this roof!"

"Oh, I _am_ sorry to hear such declarations," said Mr Bennet. "If I had known that you disliked the mention of Bingley to such a degree then I would not have bothered to call on him this morning. He has a wonderful house if I recall. A large dojang with numerous instructors from China, Japan and Korea, more than forty firearms hung on his walls, approximately one and fifty hundred shrunken heads of his eradicated enemies fixed upon plaques, and pinjas at his disposal exceeded two hundred. It's too late to escape his acquaintance now, without being hideously rude."

"What are pinjas Papa?" Kitty inquired, avidly interested, but was cut of by her mother who began to bellow her rapture and delight.

"Oh Mr Bennet, I knew you were not to let us down! You care too much for me and for your daughters. I should have known! What a good joke too, to not tell us that you were going! Oh if I were ten years younger I would challenge you to a duel for your mischief. I was quite a dab hand with the sword."

"My darling Mrs Bennet, I did not do such a thing for you, and if I had to let you down you would not have far to go. To flatter yourself with 'ten years ago' is a mere trifle- surely twenty or thirty would have been more accurate? And besides, what you perceive to be a 'dab hand with the sword', others- and I mean by this children- surpass the talent you had tenfold. Kitty, pinjas are a cross between pirates and ninjas. Although both on their own are terrifying enough, the mixture between the two makes even the strongest man feel weak at the knees."

"Oh Mr Bennet, how you like to tease!" Mrs Bennet, although both her husband and her first and second daughter were now contemplating her murder, chose not to keep her trap shut but instead carried on wittering. "Jealousy of my old skill will not benefit you in the future! I'm sure I still have the old talent, and if you like I could take you to the dojang and teach you some tricks!"

"My dear, I would rather face a whole army of goblins by myself than accompany you to the dojang. Even the mere thought makes me feel that being hung drawn and quartered would be a more desirable fate." As he spoke, Mr Bennet left the room, fatigued with the ramblings of his wife of whom he thought had some sort of psychological problems.

"What a wonderful father you have girls!" Mrs Bennet turned to her daughters, joy radiating from her smile. "I am so glad that he truly cares for us! Did you hear? He would rather fight goblins than fight me, in fear of causing me any injury! There is no need for his concern of course for I feel that we are evenly matched, if not me more so. If only I could do magic! But not all of us are so lucky. Lydia my love, though you are the youngest-" Mrs Bennet said all of this without even taking breath, and her features were growing rather red and swollen, "- I dare say Mr Bingley will spar with you at the next tournament to find Demon-Basher of the month."

"Oh!" replied Lydia stoutly, "I am not afraid; for though I _am_ the youngest, I am the tallest and the quickest to attack and defend my ring."

The rest of the evening was spent in conjecturing how soon he would return Mr Bennet's visit, and determining when they should ask him along to shoot troublesome dwarves.


	3. Chinese Fans and Moody Bastards

_Hello YesIEatQuiche, if you're reading this. Thank you for reviewing- Jiang Qing is muchly grateful and she offers you a platter of rainbow cookies filled with sugar and E-Numbers. Please accept such a gift. If you are NOT YesIEatQuiche and you are reading this, PLEASE write a review, no matter how short. I like them, they make my day and they… make me __**happy**__. That, and I myself am also trained in the Deadly Arts- not that that's a threat. Pwease review? For me? Arigato ___

Not all that Mrs Bennet, however, with the assistance of her five daughters, could ask on the subject, was sufficient to draw from her husband any satisfactory description of Mr Bingley. They attacked him in various ways- Mrs Bennet's hectoring, shrieking tones could drown out any other, whilst the Bennet sisters tried the more subtle approach; Lydia leaping down from the rafters and holding a knife to her father's throat, threatening to slit the skin if he did not provide answers. She misjudged her father's fighting skill however, and he laughingly ripped the knife from her clasp, spending it spinning to the floor. In a trice he drew out his stick of magic, thought better of it, and contented himself with tossing a well- aimed shuriken at his youngest instead; pinning his daughter by the clothes to the wall. In vain she tried to free herself, but the shuriken was embedded too deeply. In punishment Mr Bennet left her there for an hour, but forgave her to the extent that he would not admission the five lashes of punishment.

Finally defeated, Mrs Bennet and her daughters contented themselves with the second hand intelligence of their dear neighbour Carlotta Lucci. Her review of Mr Bingley shone so brightly that Mrs Bennet felt as if she was bathed in sunlight. Sir Walter Lucci was particularly impressed, hearing of Mr Bingley's skill on the battlefield and how many dwarves he had slain. Once, so went the gossip, Mr Bingley had managed to defeat nine goblins single handed, possessing only a light sword of aluminium and one recipe to make exploding blueberry pie. Conjuring such a pie with the aid of his magic stick, Bingley had lobbed the dessert sweet into the middle of the bunch, killing four of them at once. The other five rounded on him, maces and staffs at the ready- but Mr Bingley leapt through the air whilst jump spin kicking three heads into oblivion, landed like a cat and drew his sword, back-flipping whilst he did so. Incapable of keeping up with such amazing feats, the goblins just stopped and stared as Mr Bingley slashed at their stomachs, revealing the bloody guts within. Unable to stuff them back in as quickly as they were falling out, the goblins admitted defeat and let their intestines fall to the ground. Mr Bingley returned to his mansion victorious, and without so much as a cut on him.

"Oh! If I could see one of my daughters happily at Netherfield," cried Mrs Bennet one day to her husband, "And all the other equally well married, then I should have nothing to wish for!"

"I should wish for a peaceful life," returned Mr Bennet, "but as long as you shall live, that option seems impossible. I have a wish for Lydia, Kitty and Mary to be married certainly, for their constant speech of tiresome books and new dresses makes a man feel that he should leap out of the nearest window. However, the price of glass is expensive, and if I damaged such window you would have an unpayable bill on your hands."

"Oh Mr Bennet!" his wife shrieked, flinging her arms around his physique, "you are so thoughtful!"

In a few days, Mr Bingley did pay his expected call on the Bennet household. He secretly wished to be able to see the ladies of the household, whose beauty and skill he heard were phenomenal; but he only saw the father and sat with him in the drawing room for quarter of an hour, exchanging spells and sparring techniques. The ladies managed to catch a glimpse of him from the upstairs window and saw that he carried his magic stick in his hand, as well as a doubled bladed katana on his back. Only pausing to point his magic stick into some bushes of where he heard a suspicious noise but found nothing, Mr Bingley entered the house. In the excitement of the moment, Mrs Bennet had to be presently stifled in case her screams of delight were heard from the drawing room. Lydia, embracing the spoilt child in herself, emitted a large squeal and promptly lost her index finger- removed from a vicious swipe of a blade. In her anger she demanded loudly for who had done such a deed, and that the attacker gave her finger back so she could sew it on later; but all sisters denied doing such thing. It was only later when Lizzy decided that she must remove the congealed blood from her hand dagger.

An invitation for dinner was soon dispatched from Mr Bennet to Bingley, of which unfortunately could not be accepted as he had urgent business in town the next day. Thanking Mr Bennet nonetheless for the invite, he soon left, and Mrs Bennet felt it was safe to have her tantrum. Having already planned that there was to be salmon and sticky toffee pudding for each course of Bingley's meal, to be told that he was not to come was a bitter blow. Hurt, Mrs Bennet bitterly complained of the unfairness of the situation, of Bingley's business and indeed the unfairness of life itself, until Mr Bennet had to be physically restrained from aiming a shotgun at her back. Angry at her husband's lack of support, Mrs Bennet sought comfort in the Lucci household, and sure enough Mrs Lucci was quick to provide it by starting the tentative idea that Mr Bingley was in town to find warriors to enter the Goblin-Basher tournament. Happy with such a notion, Mrs Bennet said little more on the matter of Bingley not being able to come to dinner, and Mr Bennet personally sent Mrs Lucci a long letter expressing his enormous thanks.

Sure enough, Mr Bingley was reported to be bringing no less than fourteen warriors to the tournament- eight ladies and six men. At first, everybody to enter the famous event lamented over the increase of competition; however, when the day of the tournament arrived Bingley's party only consisted of five- his two sisters, the husband of the eldest sister, a young man and Bingley himself.

Mr Bingley was good-looking a gentleman. He had charming manners, and was always careful to bow before stepping onto the dojang's floor. To the master of the dojang, Master Kiriyama, he offered his sword for inspection whilst lying face down on the ground- a mark of the deepest respect for one with more experience and knowledge than his own. Having been told that his sword was acceptable, Bingley went into the costume room to soon reappear wearing a handsome dobok of the finest black and red satin. His sisters were fine women yet slightly impatient with the dojang formalities- only jerking their heads before they stepped onto the dojang floor, rather than copying their brother's deep bow. Mr Haringchez the brother in law, only appeared to be a fine warrior, but it was Bingley's friend Darcy that attracted the attention of the room. His fine tall person, solid muscles and handsome, chiselled face soon gathered a large crowd of lady admirers, and his genuine Japanese silver katana was admired and envied by every warrior in the building. His sword was so large that all the other men wished theirs were bigger, and the pleasure that the ladies seemed to receive from the weapon of mass destruction made Darcy the most popular, yet also the least popular person in the room. Mr Darcy was admired for more than a few minutes, until his manners gave a disgust that turned the tide of his popularity; he did not bow at all when stepping onto the mat, and when Master Kiriyama asked to check his katana, Mr Darcy beheaded him with a single messy blow. Blood shed was not uncommon at tournaments, and neither was death- but to kill a master when you are a stranger in these parts did not appear to be the highest of etiquette.

The tournament began and soon Mr Bingley was well acquainted and sparring with everybody in the room. As the first bell was rang to start the first fight, Mr Bingley stepped into the ring, closely followed by Lydia. In the safe of her own mind Lizzy gave a groan. Although Lydia was particularly well accomplished with the Chinese fan, she could not see such a weapon being very effective against a cutlass. The fight began, and to be fair Lydia gave as good as she got, drawing blood on Mr Bingley's shoulder in only the first few seconds. The battle raged and spectators bellowed their cheers, applauding both Bingley's and Lydia's lively lunges and sparring styles. Elizabeth stole a look towards Mr Darcy, expecting him to be cheering with the rest, willing his friend to victory. This was not the case; Darcy had a bored expression and was slumped against the wall, watching the battle in what seemed like distaste. Elizabeth gave a slight shiver then returned her gaze to the battling pair. Lydia was definitely near the end of her time- her features were swamped in blood, and her hair had escaped from her band. Mr Bingley with a final lunge and cry swept the bladed fan from Lydia's grasp and sent it flying into the crowd. Dropping his own weapon, Bingley snatched at Lydia's arm and proceeded to hip throw her to the floor. Picking up his cutlass, he pointed the sharp point at Lydia's throat.

"You have been defeated, and I believe it is my honour to take your life."

Lydia gave a half muffled gulp, and sharply nodded her head. Mrs Bennet's harsh crying could already be heard all over the stadium, and Mr Bennet hung his head in the utmost shame that one of his daughters had been beaten on her first fight of the day. Lydia closed her eyes and waited for the blade to pierce her delicate flesh- but the blow did not come. Mr Bingley stepped back a pace, waving his hands as a gesture to her to get to her feet.

"I had a cutlass, you had a fan. The battle was not fair. I shall not kill you this time."

Whilst some of the crowd began to cheer, and Mrs Bennet had stopped wailing, other spectators began to show their displeasure.

"It's not about the weapon! It's about your skill with it!"

However, as Bingley had relented on his victim, Lydia had no choice but to walk free and be determined to not allow anyone to get the better of her next time. Elizabeth stole another glance at Darcy, and was amazed to see that the only emotion on his face matched that of the angry portion of the crowd. Cautious, she began to engage him in conversation.

"Are you not pleased that Mr Bingley won his first battle? Are you not proud of his gallantry, letting my younger sister walk free?"

Darcy did not steal a glance at Elizabeth, but continued to stare at the ring. Eventually he gave his reply, voice laden with disgust. "That was no victory. Bingley should be ashamed, a man of his age and teaching being almost slaughtered by a pubescent girl of no more training than a light weekly sparring match in a backyard dojang. The fact that he did not take her life was not _gallantry_ but a flaw on his part; he should kill all those weaker than him to show that he himself is not weak. I am ashamed of him."

Well, Elizabeth _was_ offended, and she made it her duty not to engage herself in conversation with Darcy again, for truly the man had no manners to speak of.

_To be continued……………………………………………………_

_I know, isn't it exciting!!!! _


	4. I'll Thumb You a Love Song

The tournament was soon in full swing, with the scores shown on a large chalkboard attached to the wall. In first place was Darcy and his faithful katana, closely followed by Mr Bingley with his cutlass, then Lizzy with her shurikens. In fourth place was the beautiful Miss Bennet, then Kitty, Mary and in sixth place Lydia. In between her battles and the merciless killing of her fellow men, Elizabeth stole pleased glances towards the board, glad that she and her sisters were among the top warriors in the room. How proud her father must be to have such destructive daughters! Why, he might be so pleased as to send the lot of them to the academy of Abracadabra, and _that_ would be the answer to all Lizzy's dreams and prayers. Magic! Imagine what one could do with that power! To own a magic stick, Lizzy would have happily killed her mother. There would be no love lost, she would have been doing the entire population a favour, and she would enter a world inhabited by only the elite. It was a win-win situation, and Eliza was determined to reach the top. Without a word, her eyes flashed, and she beheaded her poor male opponent without a moments hesitation, blood flowing in gay abandon across the dojang's matted floor. Only pausing to bow to Master Reyes, Lizzy licked the blood from her throwing star, and stepped into the heaving crowd, of which promptly lifted her onto their shoulders proclaiming her the winner. Flustered, Lizzy attempted to be let down, and only a short sharp stab in the back with a pointed end seemed to be effective. With a roar, several of the unfortunate crowd members dropped her limbs in pain, and Lizzy went crashing to the ground, stopping any serious damage with a back breakfall.

"Lizzy!" Miss Bennet came hurrying along through the crowd, dripping in sweat and blood, yet still managing to look as beautiful as ever. Offering her sister a delicate hand, Lizzy gratefully took it and was hauled to her feet. "Are you injured? You took quite a fall."

"No, my dear sister, I am fine; I've had much worse a tumble in our practise sessions."

"Goodness, Lizzy you could still be more careful. Imagine if you were injured and could no longer fight! It would be _such_ a shame to have to leave the tournament when you're in such a prominent position. Third place! You must be so proud."

"I am proud, but only to be alive. In my last match but one I received quite a nasty cut on my left wrist, and nearly severed my hand. A dead woman is one thing, an asymmetrical one is another. It is so fortunate that I had a spare needle and thread stashed in my undergarments."

"That must be dreadfully uncomfortable."

"Quite so."

An small silence ensued between the two sisters, both listening to the screams and roars of the competitors and the crowd. Lizzy cast her eyes around the room, and focused upon Mr Darcy who seemed to be mutilating his female opponent, oblivious to how much she screamed. Ugh, truly the man had no manners to speak of; Lizzy hated unfair play and believed in killing her enemies quickly. Although a great warrior, she still held a small vial of womanly compassion in her heart and detested seeing people suffer if they were not Goblins. So her dislike of Mr Darcy grew even deeper, and she turned her head away back to her sister, who seemed to have her eyes fixed onto Mr Bingley.

"Is he your next fight?"

Startled, Miss Bennet drew her head guiltily away from her interest and glanced towards Lizzy, her face flushed. "I don't know what you mean."

Smirking, Lizzy shook her head, suppressing an urge to giggle. "You misunderstand me, sister. I did not ask if you would like him to enter your bed, but merely if he was your next opponent."

"Elizabeth! What a dreadful thing to say!"

Lizzy merely raised an eyebrow.

"He is indeed my next opponent, and I am interested in him in that sense but in no way else."

"I see." Elizabeth nodded lightly, if disbelievingly, and Jane decided that it would be wise to change the subject.

"But sister, if I beat Mr Bingley it means that I will go up into third place, whilst Bingley goes down to fourth."

"Then I put all my hope into you winning my dear sister, for third place is a worthy aspiration indeed."

"Yes, but Lizzy do you not understand? If I am third then that means you will be in second place and will have to fight Mr Darcy!"

"Ah."

"Oh, shocking!" Jane Bennet wrung her hands together, not in the least looking like a warrior woman, let alone one who deserved to study at the Academy of Abracadabra. "For your sake Lizzy, I will lose the battle. Hopefully Mr Bingley will feel the same compassion for me, as he did our little sister."

Before Lizzy could stop herself, or even think through her actions, her strong, lightly tanned hand drew up and slapped her sister across the face. Jane reeled back slightly, clutching her cheek in surprise, too shocked even to speak. Lizzy, however, was fired up enough to do talking for two.

"Sister, I will not have such an attitude! You will fight Mr Bingley, and if you win I will _gladly_ fight Mr Darcy- to the death if I have to! Besides, if we do fight, I have a rather special tactic up my sleeve."

Still reeling from her sister's blow, Jane asked somewhat hesitantly: "You won't castrate him will you, sister?"

Lizzy blushed. "Alas, I am read like a book! No, if it bothers you, I will not castrate today. Besides his attractive looks and shiploads of dosh, Mr Darcy has little enough going for him already without being able to have some action in his bed chamber, though I doubt if it is _women_ that are on his mind."

A bell rang in the background, and Mr Bingley in the third ring threw up his arms in delight. "By George, I won! Again! Oh fabulous! What a stroke of luck!" Excited, his eyes scanned around the hall. "Who's my next opponent to be? I ask them to step forward and to BRING IT ON!" He fell to his knees, and Master Fandango, Bingley's private tutor, rolled his eyes privately to himself. The boy was becoming overexcited, and if not careful his arse may get kicked.

"Lizzy, I must go." Jane hugged her sister and held her hand dagger tightly in her fist. "Wish me good luck."

Elizabeth smiled. "You do not need it, but good luck all the same." Jane gave her a tight grimace in return and made her way into the ring, where Mr Bingley was ready and waiting to begin the next battle.

"AH HA! ANOTHER ONE WHO WISHES TO BIT THE DU… Miss Bennet? Are you my next fight?" Bingley stared at the beautiful woman in front of him, and lowered his cutlass slightly, face red with an unknown emotion. "Surely such a beautiful and delicate creature would not want to mar her looks for the sake of a sparring match?"

"I have no looks to speak of, and such sparring matches are my life."

"But…"

The bell rang again, and Mr Bingley sprung out of his daze, lifting his cutlass protectively to his chest. He looked over to Master Fandango, eyes pleading. "I can't use this," he waved the cutlass half heartedly. "I'd butcher her."

"For heaven's sake man, get on with it!" A voice that sounded perhaps unsurprisingly like Mr Bennet's, wove it's way through the spectators. Mr Bingley twitched but did nothing.

"Mr Bingley, we must get on with the fight," Miss Bennet's voice came quietly through the bellows of the increasingly frustrated crowd. "Come now."

Mr Bennet still did not wield his sword. "You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen,"

"And you too are exceedingly handsome."

Mr Bingley drew closer. "Then why fight? Why fight at all?"

Jane drew closer, so that there was only a few inches between them. "I'm not sure. I possess no answers."

The crowd were getting exceedingly bored, and hot dog sales were rocketing as in their disinterest, they began to eat. Mr Bennet, two hot dogs clasped in both hands, with another balanced on his head for later, was watching the sickening scene dispassionately, his wife cooing with such reverence he could feel the meat and bread rising back up his throat and threatening to make a reappearance.

"Oh Mr Bennet! How lovely, and how wonderful for Jane! I'm sure they are in love, look at both of them! Oh, if we could only get her married by the end of the week then we would only have to worry about the other four! And for the love to happen so publicly! I'm sure that Scarlett Sakaki is green with envy right now, that is, if she hasn't been killed. Oh imagine if she has, and can't see this wonderful scene! How cross I will be!" Mrs Bennet, ignoring her husband's loud and poignant yawn, reached over and tapped the person in front of her on the shoulder.

"Ah, hello. Sorry to disturb you, but have you seen a Mrs Scarlett Sakaki anywhere?"

The person in front of her, Master Reyes himself, replied that she had been killed by Miss Lydia Bennet some hours ago. Mrs Bennet shrieked with annoyance, her screams so loud that Master Reyes found his hearing momentarily impaired.

"Oh, how infuriating! I did so want Scarlett to be jealous, and what use is she for gossip if she is dead? I must say that it was most selfish of Lydia to kill her, I'm sure I never brought her up to think in such a way!"

"No my dear, you brought her up in such a way that she never thinks at all."

"Oh Mr Bennet, don't teaze at a time like this!"

"Teazing? My dear, you're mistaken. I am too indeed sorry that Mrs Sakaki is dead, for I had rather hoped that she would kill you first. Now unfortunately, unless she was to rise from the grave, I will have to do such duty myself."

"Oh Mr Bennet, you do joke!" Suddenly sick of hearing his name with the permanent title of 'Oh' in front of it, and sure that his wife would never see the sense to be quiet, Mr Bennet resorted to desperate measures. With a swift wrist, developed from many years of combat training, Mr Bennet grabbed the hot dog from his head and shoved the entire thing into Mrs Bennet's mouth.

Meanwhile, the fight between Mr Bingley and Jane Bennet could still sadly not be called a fight of any kind, unless it was a fight between seeing who was the most attractive to the other. Mr Bingley had long ago dropped his cutlass, and was now holding Miss Bennet's hand, whispering sweet nothings. Jane was blushing prettily, her good looks amplified through the gore still attached to her face. The crowd began to wander off, dodging Mrs Bennet who was on all fours, still coughing and hacking up bits of meat and onions that had become lodged in her windpipe. Lizzy began to see a real disaster. If Jane and Mr Bingley continued in such a way, the not only would their reputations be ruined beyond repair, but the possibility of Academy of Abracadabra would be reduced to almost nil. Desperate, Elizabeth raised her voice.

"Jane! Sister! Fight!"

Jane jerked suddenly, as if awakening from a dream. Gathering her senses, her hand plunged into her pocket and withdrew her dagger, glaring at Mr Bingley fiercely. "We must spar, Bingley."

Bingley clutched his cutlass, and nodded reluctantly. "So we must, Miss Bennet."

The battle began, although both seemed wary to draw blood. Mr Bingley feinted and thrust his cutlass with as much skill as Mrs Bennet, whilst Jane feebly stuck her dagger into his thigh, only allowing the blade to go half an inch deep. Gasping with the stab of pain, Bingley slashed at Jane's chest resulting in a shallow, but long cut across her torso. Yet the petty wound was enough. Seizing her senses, Jane pulled up her dagger and drew it firmly across Bingley's stomach, in which he responded with a sharp jab to her upper arm. Both now bleeding freely, the love-struck pair rounded on each other, the flash of blades going so fast that all Lizzy could see was a silver blur.

"Oh dear," she thought privately to herself. "I do hope that for Jane's sake, Mr Bingley tires quickly. A cutlass against a hand dagger is no fair match." She watched with her eyes wide, and hands clenched with anticipation, not hearing the footfalls that came up beside her.

"I rather fear that your sister will not be alive by the end of this day. A shame, for she is handsome, though she smiles far too much to be a truly exceptional martial artist."

Lizzy spun around, her face colliding with Mr Darcy's bloody chest. Annoyed, she stepped back slightly, for Mr Darcy had no right to come up so close beside her. "I don't know what you mean," she replied towards the dreadful man, voice laden with icy jewels. "I only see Jane as an excellent fighter, and one who does not give up easily."

"Is that so?" Mr Darcy, despite making the first remark already seemed bored. "In that case, I recommend a good optician- there is an excellent one outside Meryton."

In a flash, Lizzy whipped out her shurikens and without further ado relieved Darcy of his pompous, yet handsome head. Leaving the body to lie among the crowd, Lizzy snatched up her prize by the hair and pressed it firmly onto a bo-staff, blood running down the wood in rivulets. There, her trophy was passed admirably around the hall, some saying that it would look rather attractive mounted upon a plaque in their own country estate.

Alas, this was only wishful thinking, and Lizzy instead only gave a small nod. "Then why have you not visited there, despite giving me such a strong recommendation? I fear that they need _your_ business far more strongly than they need mine, Mr Darcy." And with that she ran off in hope to find one of her sisters, and to watch Jane finish her fight.

As predicted, both had become tired very quickly. Jane had lost a sizable hank of her hair, which was now lying discarded at the side of the ring. Angry, for Jane rather thought that her hair was her best feature, though it was in fact her blue eyes; she slashed down viciously with her hand dagger, and severed Mr Bingley's thumb. Before he could call a break, and have it sewn back on however, Jane snatched from the ground and ate it in three sharp bites. The sight of his thumb being devoured by a desirable woman seemed to do strange things to the young man. Throwing his cutlass aside, and almost scalping the poor, choking Mrs Bennet, Bingley fell to his knees and cried:

"Enough! You have defeated me!"

The spectators screamed, either with joy or annoyance, and Master Fandango signalled rather wearily that the match was over. Miss Bennet approached Bingley, her dagger still drawn. "You have lost, and it is in my honour to kill you now."

Bingley gulped, then nodded. "You have every right."

"However," Jane lowered her dagger slightly. "I do not care about honour, nor rights, nor reputation at this time. Mr Bingley you proved to be a fabulous sparring partner, and I would love to have extra sessions with you in the future." She helped him to his feet as the crowd vomited into their empty French fries cartons.

"I was proven wrong it seems." Darcy, still wiping traces of regurgitated burger from his chin, had appeared behind Elizabeth for the second time. "Yet your sister only won by default. I still do not think her much of a warrior, and if she had fought _me_ then she would presently be laying decapitated on the floor."

"Really." Lizzy didn't even turn to look at him, for fear of starting an attack.

"Really. And now Miss Bennet it seems we must fight for the pride of first place. Ah! I will never have had an easier opponent."

And before Lizzy could reply with something cutting in return, Mr Darcy had already marched off to clean his blade and purchase a tin of coca-cola, ready in preparation for his final sparring match.

**A/N: Hahahaha really, **_**really**_** late update, but I have recently become much more inspired, so I promise there will be much more from where this came from. That is, if you still **_**want**_** it… I will quite understand if you don't. *Sob*. **


	5. Poor Mrs Bennet

**After approximately two and a half years… I'VE UPDATED! Welcome back old readers (if there are any left) and hello new readers! (Please let there be new readers…). ENJOY AND REVIEW ~ JQ. **

Mr Bennet, finally noticing that his wife was having seriously respiratory problems, decided to ignore them completely and set out to find his beloved second daughter. Lizzy was engaged in conversation with her sister, Jane, who was still flushed with success from her previous fight.

"His thumb! I just bit it right off!"

"I saw, dear sister, and I must say that I was rather impressed. Did he taste good at all?"

"Better than most, I must admit… but the Englishman has never been my favourite. Too hammy for my palate"

Neither noticed the approach of their father, who carefully drew his own sword. Elizabeth was not on her proper guard, and her next opponent was likely to show no mercy if she failed in her skills. If his other daughters- perhaps with the exception of Jane- had been in a similar situation, Mr Bennet would not have hesitated to send them to their foolish doom. To lose Lizzy however, would be an unwanted burden; perhaps because only she out of the five had the courage to quieten Mrs Bennet through either fair means or foul. Quite suddenly, an awful prospect flashed across his mind. Lizzy, dead and buried (God-bless her soul) and Mrs Bennet weeping violently upon his shoulder:

"_I never liked Elizabeth much," Mrs Bennet howled, the very ground cracking beneath their feet and revealing the rotting coffins beneath, "but to die before marriage is not only a failure on her part, but also on _mine_." _

"_Indeed. What funeral is complete without a grieving widower?" _

"_Precisely, Mr Bennet!" His wife lifted her face towards his, and dispassionately he observed her red pig-like eyes, and gushing nose. "I always fancied a funeral to be far more _picturesque_."_

It was after this image faded that Mr Bennet decided on his true course of action. His blade flashed between his two favourite daughters, the sharp edge sinking into Lizzy's shoulder and becoming lodged in the bone.

The reaction was as quick as he could have wanted. Apparently oblivious to the pain, Lizzy spun on her heel (almost knocking Jane to the ground in the process) and pulled out her hand dagger. Mr Bennet barely had time to duck before the point embedded itself into his forehead, the bone now softer through age. Riled by her apparent enemy's skill in deflection, Lizzy unleashed her shurikans, the star-blades whipping through the crowd before slicing into Mr Bennet's clothes and pinning him to the nearest wall. He smiled.

"You had best watch your reflexes in future, Eliza."

"Father?" Lizzy hurried forwards, a blush of shame forming on her cheeks. "I apologise for my misconduct, I had no idea that it was _you_ who was my attacker." She pulled her shurikans from the wall, and placed them back into her pockets.

"Nonsense!" Mr Bennet gripped her shoulders. "A warrior never apologises for defence of the self. And a warrior also never allows their guard to be lost. You would not have received that wound if you were concentrating on what you should have been, Lizzy." He glanced towards Mr Darcy, who was currently in the splits position, his head touching the floor. Indeed, if the man _did_ have testicles it would be a miracle.

"Father!" a cry of panic broke through the babble of the congregation. "Mother's turning blue!"

"Lizzy, for your own life and my reputation, I encourage you not to misjudge this man." Mr Bennet had still not let go of his daughter's shoulders. "He may appear weak with pride, but I assure you that it is his pride which keeps him merciless."

"I don't fear, father," replied Lizzy, her eyes fixated on the detestable man in the corner, "for although he has pride to keep him strong, I have true strength. Although his coldness lends him skill, I have true tactic. His long limbs may aid him with speed, but I have trained ardently for deftness. He will not be an easy kill, I agree, but not impossible for one of my calibre."

For the first time, Mr Bennet could see a similarity between his second daughter and her mother. "Eliza-"

"FATHER!" Lydia's voice had risen in volume, her fear shrill on the ears of the weary. "I FEAR YOU COULD HEAR ME NOT… MOTHER'S TURNING BLUE."

"A delicate colour, most handsome on fine garments, though perhaps not the ideal pigment for a lady."

For the first time, Lizzy realised that her father wasn't as gentlemanlike as she had previously thought. "Hadn't you better help her? It _was _your doing, I recall."

"What is there to be done? She may be blue if she likes. Makes a fine change to the envious green that usually colours her character."

"Father!"

"Oh, all right!"

Mrs Bennet was no longer on all fours, but flat on her back, her face a blotchy mauve and mouth open though thankfully silent. In the excitement of the tournament, and the distinct lack of First Aid that pervaded violent affairs during that period, most had decided to ignore the woman on the floor, some even pretending (Mrs Bennet had strived hard for popularity and had only been rewarded with notoriety) that she was a new floor mat. It took all Mr Bennet's self-control not to laugh as foot after foot went into his wife's mouth or crushed her nose.

He'd been waiting for such a sight for years.

Regretfully, he drew his magic stick and pointed it at his behated spouse. The effect was instantaneous; the chunk of meat and onions left Mrs Bennet's gullet with the force of an accelerating train, spattering merrily onto the disgruntled crowd. Mrs Bennet began to scream.

"Oh-oh-oh! Mr Bennet, you saved my life! You naughty man, leaving your wife waiting for so long! I nearly died!"

"Much as I wished to wait a few moments longer, you should thank Lydia for your welfare."

"Until Lydia is married, she is responsible for _deterioration_ of my welfare only, Mr Bennet. My five girls! So ungrateful! Not one master have they tried to seduce this afternoon!"

"Lydia is destined to be a spinster, for no man could put up with all that is released from her mouth."

"Oh Mr Bennet! Don't! My nerves. My ner-er-erves! I may have a breakdown!"

"Consider myself manipulated, dear lady. That will not be necessary."

The bell rang throughout the dojang, alerting Mr Bennet that the beginning of the final fight was to begin. Lizzy stepped purposely towards the mat, bowing to Master Fandango who agreed to monitor the final process. An excited ripple ran throughout the crowded room. Elizabeth's face began to redden. The gossipers, if she lived to hear them, would be particularly tenacious after witnessing the match.

"Mr Darcy and the second Miss Bennet! This should be interesting indeed."

"Let us hope that Mr Darcy will be as relenting as his friend. I cannot see Miss Bennet living to tell yet _another_ sorry tale from her and her family, if not."

"The girl has more going for her than you think! She would not be in this position if otherwise!"

"Luck, I say. I would not put it past her or her family to even consider seduction. Besides, there is no place for a lady to be a warrior."

Elizabeth's ears burnt as she finally was allowed to step onto the mat. How she hated them, the gossipers of Meryton. Their collected foolishness not only annoyed, but alarmed her; how can such a petty party be expected to save themselves from danger such as the Goblins? She doubted that most could even defend themselves from a small gang of rogue dwarves. Perhaps it would be better is she _did _sacrifice them all. Better a little humane sacrifice than a goblin-founded massacre… her hand tightened upon her shurikans.

"Lust for vengeance, Miss Bennet, is neither a pretty nor strengthening emotion." Mr Darcy took his place opposite her on the mat, katana in hand and eyes even colder than before. "You do not wish to sacrifice those who mutter for their own safety, but in order to protect your own poorly assembled reputation."

Elizabeth, not for the first time since meeting Mr Darcy or his large sword, was aghast. "I am not sure how you read my mind, Darcy, but I assure you that you've-"

"I took an extensive course in China studying Qigong. It is an art of the mind, the soul and of power. It also allows you to take a study of body language, and the truth that it reveals. You appear defensive, angry and ready to kill."

"Then it does not look good for you, Darcy." Elizabeth replied, her defiance threatening to overwhelm herself entirely. "And I would just like to tell you that-"

"Don't bother." Darcy waved a dismissive hand. "I never listen to gossip."

He turned his back on her, and began to perform some last minute stretches, leaving Elizabeth flailing like a weak fish in order to find a cutting response. She certainly was not going to be _grateful._ Why! The man may leave with her head as yet! Instead of upon the crowd, Elizabeth instead chose to direct her full fury and anger upon her opponent. It wasn't difficult- Darcy, sensing that someone was laughing at his level of flexibility, leapt to his feet and disembowelled the poor victim with one stroke of his superior instrument. Unfortunately for Eliza, the victim happened to be Miss Lucci's mother – something she wished her friend would never have to see. Oh! To laugh and cause your own misfortune!

"Take your places." Master Fandango stood in the centre of the mat, arms folded and balanced on the balls of his feet. Calm, but incredibly deadly. Far more so than herself, or even Mister Darcy. Qigong! Elizabeth began to find herself feeling extremely nervous. The shurikens slipped in her hands as she began to freely perspire.

Master Fandango nodded to both partners, and bowed off the mat. Eliza flushed as she bowed to Mister Darcy, suddenly afraid that his prowess in Qigong would give him a far bigger advantage than she ever suspected. Qigong included a form of mind-control after all- to describe Elizabeth now as 'fearful' would be an understatement. The bell rang for the second time.

Mr Darcy's reaction was so quick that it shocked her. He did not bother with a courteous feint, or anything that she had been previously taught as good manners, but instead went for the killer blow- straight for her neck. Without thinking, Elizabeth blocked the strike with her bare arms, rather than activating her shuriken-shield. Two deep wounds immediately appeared in her forearms, running with crimson blood. Thankfully, they were not bad enough for the limbs to be amputated- surprising considering Darcy's strength. Perhaps that had been a 'courtesy-feint' after all. Somewhere, she heard Mr Bennet's deep groan.

"Oh, Lizzy! All that blood has marred your sparring gown somewhat! It looks _most_ unattractive!"

"Dear woman, if you do not be quiet I'll be forced to reconsider previous actions."

Eliza could not let such trifles as her mother distract her. If Darcy was going to go for killer blows, then so was she. With the deftness of a striking viper, Lizzy unleashed the first of her throwing stars, aiming for Darcy's proud features. She had misjudged him chronically, however, for he merely batted off the oncoming metal as if it were nothing more tiresome than a moth. In desperation, Lizzy began to throw deadly star after deadly star, all perfectly aimed and yet perfectly deflected. Darcy's katana was having a more difficult job than he was accustomed to, however, and he struggled to keep under control. Finally, he hit a mark, the curved blade deftly flicking out one of Lizzy's eyes.

The pain was unbearable. Lizzy withheld her scream, but allowed herself to clutch her face. A sharp booing came from the crowd, and she feared that her reputation was in ruins. Warrior indeed! However, the shouts she could hear surprised her.

"Kill the woman if you must, but don't rob her of her sight! What kind of animal do you suppose you are?"

"That's no way to treat a lady, even an unconventional one such as Eliza!"

"DAMN YOU, DARCY, SHE'LL NEVER GET MARRIED NOW. Oh Mr Bennet, hold me!"

Darcy's face reddened to the point of eruption, and he had the good grace to stare at the ground as if ashamed. He looked up at Lizzy, who immediately went into a guarding stance. His eyes were cold as ever, but his mouth held a hint of regret. "If you wish, Miss Bennet, I can let you go today. I can't possibly think much less of you."

It was time to remember that she had more than weapons at her disposal. Use Darcy's weapons against him; body, mind and spirit.

"Mr Darcy, you are so kind. A true warrior… brave, bold and forgiving."

He scowled and nodded his head.

"You misunderstand me, Darcy. I was talking about myself."

With a cry to the Warrior-Gods, Elizabeth Bennet used the full-force of a low side kick to smash into Mr Darcy's knees. It was unexpected- like her he held in a scream, but dropped to the ground like a stone. Letting go of a precious shuriken, Lizzy clenched her fist and shattered his nose, which exploded into a fountain of blood. In his confusion of pain, Mr Darcy's reflexes made the hand holding his katana a sudden jerk, slicing through three of Lizzy's fingers on her left hand. No matter, they could always be reattached- unlike her eye. A sudden rage like no other enveloped her. Grabbing the blinded Darcy by his hair (the blood from his nose had been wiped into his eyes during the mayhem), Elizabeth smashed his head repeatedly into the floor, the matting providing no real shield. Elizabeth winced when she heard the chipping on cranium, pinning Darcy in place whenever he struggled.

Finally he grew limp, the katana dropping from his weakened hand. Victorious, Lizzy kicked it away, and dragged the damaged Darcy to his feet. "Face me, sir, for the finale." She withdrew a last shurikan.

Yet, just as she was about to pull the blade across his stomach, Darcy's hand lunged for her throat. So unexpected was the move that Elizabeth had no time for defence. His strong hand squeezed.

"It takes more than a mere blow to the head to defeat me, Miss Bennet."

Although she could barely breathe, Lizzy's hand slipped slightly lower.

"I'm not Bingley, I show no mercy. I don't believe many ladies have survived with their neck broken."

Her face now almost purple, Elizabeth still managed to choke out a few words: "I… don't… believe… many… men… have… survived… the… humiliation… of… castration. One… wrong… move…"

Mr Darcy, whose weapon was quite impressive as his katana, looked down. Sure enough, the final shuriken nestled between his legs, Elizabeth's strong, deft hand tensed for attack.

He had never been put in such a difficult place throughout the entirety of his affluent existence. Horror mounting inside his very being, he stared at the defiant face of Miss Bennet, her face now blotchy with asphyxiation.

For the first time, he allowed himself to observe her very fine eye.


	6. Mary

**Update, update, update… late as per, and sorry to those who have been waiting. A special apology to my dear FF friend YesIEatQuiche, as I notice that she herself has updated many times but I have not yet caught up with her fantastic new chapters. Forgive? **

For the first time in the entirety of Mr Darcy's combat history, he appeared to be lodged between a rock and having his rocks painfully parted from his muscled frame. His hand grip slightly loosened as he considered all available options; all quite unpleasant and unquestionable in his own proud mind. To him, it was uncomfortably certain that any attempt to use Qigong on his opponent would be not so much fruitless as dishonourable. The second Miss Bennet was certainly strong of mind and courage, as well as alarmingly deft with her slight wrists. Once again, Darcy made quick observation of Eliza Bennet's face. She was not particularly attractive- though it must be conceded that that may be due to the various blood spatters and the discolouration of her partially asphyxiated visage- yet her remaining eye sparkled with defiance, wit and a feral thirst for freedom. There was beauty! It was, therefore, a shame that her character was quite so intolerable.

The spectators were surprisingly silent for those who usually brayed for blood. Unlike the sweet nothings that had been so tenderly dropped between Miss Jane Bennet and Bingley – a rich, blossoming romance that bored such a boorish audience entirely – this fight had created an atmosphere so thick with tension that nobody dared move in case it gave either side a disadvantage. Even Mrs Bennet was suitably led by the attitude of her acquaintances, her rather over-worked mouth taking a well-earned rest and even planning a short holiday. A light hand landed neatly on her shoulder.

"Yes dear?" Mrs Bennet was too transfixed to turn and face they who required her attention, voyeurism and pseudo-sexual excitement filling the full proportion of her (undeniably unpractised} attention. Another hand landed, rather more heavily, onto her second shoulder.

"What is it?" Irritable, Mrs Bennet turned towards the first hand that required her consideration…and shrieked. Lydia, whose concentration span was even poorer than her mother's, had found a dismembered limb down by her feet, and, sensing a great joke, had painstakingly rested it where it would cause the greatest reaction. She cared not whose hand it was, only that she, as she felt deserving, was in someone's full spotlight. Mrs Bennet obliged.

"Lydia Bennet! You have no wit to speak of, and I will think of a punishment the moment we reach home! You have made no effort today whatsoever! I distinctly saw a Grandmaster glance admiringly at you during the third or fourth match, and yet you made not even the slightest effort to even smile!"

"He had a harelip, mamma!"

"And he probably earns at least five thousand a year! A harelip does not mean an empty wallet, by all means. Yet how do you choose to spend your time? Making a mockery out of your poor mother, who has little but fed you, clothed you and supported you since you reached puberty!"

The crowd, used to Mrs Bennet's outbursts and such inappropriate times especially, heeded neither her nor her daughter any attention. Yet the magic that had pervaded the fight was coming slowly to its natural end; more than one had realised that this, undoubtedly deadly, saw-saw had been balanced for far too long. Only Mr Bennet, the one with any investment in his second daughter, continued to take any interest in the proceedings.

The battle seemed to have no end. It was no longer a test of skill, but a war of pride on pride. Elizabeth, with Mr Darcy's grip loosened just enough for her to be mildly comfortable, took it upon herself to speak.

"Our associates grow bored, Darcy."

"I notice, Miss Bennet, and yet you still do not remove your weapon from my person and admit defeat."

"For sure, you have not removed your hand and admitted defeat yourself! If I die, my passing would cause no great hardship, particularly not to my mother. Yet if I _do_ die, Darcy, pray remember that you yourself will be dead at the waist. Should pride forgo pleasure?"

Mr Darcy's eyes flashed at this, and his grip hardened. "I do believe, Miss Bennet,' he replied, "This is what one calls _endgame._"

With such dexterity that few could foresee, Darcy slackened his hold on Elizabeth's throat entirely, and struck her full across the face. The shuriken, marked off-centre by the unexpected blow, burrowed itself deeply into Darcy's tender upper thigh and narrowly missed the punctuation of one of his vitals. With a howl of rage, he flung himself upon the upstart that nearly removed him of manhood. However, she predicted such an attack, and tossed herself out of the way, sweeping Darcy's leg in the proceedings. Jumping to his feet with a bestial cry of temper, Darcy crammed a hand into his undergarments, retrieving a long wooden stick.

"Good God, Darcy, NO!" cried Mr Bingley, horrified by his friend's uncharacteristic loss of control. "Seize him!"

The remaining warriors hastened forward, led by Miss Jane and Mr Bennet. Mrs Bennet, naturally, could not contain her bafflement at such a turn of events, and such bafflement soon turned to outrage.

"I do believe that's a magic stick! But why would Mr Darcy, receiver of ten thousand a year, use it at such a time as this?" The penny dropped erratically into place. "Oh! And on a defenceless woman! I have never known such rudeness!"

Master Fandango had long since wielded his own magical tool, and was pointing it directly at Mr Darcy. Yet the terror showed clearly on his features; for though Master Fandango was good in combat with the open hand, the supernatural forces had never really been on his side. Darcy had conjured an effortless shield around himself, and pointed his stick at Eliza Bennet.

"This has gone on too long," said he, "For me to not consider my reputation already in tatters." A bladed Chinese fan struck his magical force-field, and rebounded back into the crowd, causing numerous injuries.

The entire hall rumbled.

"Come, Darcy," cried Mr Bingley, "You need not resort to this!"

"For a man that earns ten thou," chipped in Mrs Bennet, helpfully, "I find you most disagreeable indeed!"

Several exclamations went up as the very flagstones on the floor began to shake, seemingly pulsating with a demonic energy. A torrent of green light filled each window, momentarily obscuring the outside world.

"La!" said Lydia. "It's the goblins!" She gripped tightly onto her mother's arm, who shrieked with such a painful loss of circulation.

The window nearest to the centre-ring appeared to explode into a rainbow of fragments. A fairy, naked and bound lay among the sudden debris, hair shorn and green gossamer wings in a state of damage that suggested deliberate mutilation. It opened a one bloodshot eye, and when it spoke, its voice was suggestive of near death.

"I c-c-couldn't stop them – they k-kept me c-c-captive and t-tortured me for d-d-days. S-s-s-such a large f-f-force." It collapsed as far as its bindings would let it, possibly in a faint though everybody suspected the worst. Depending on how brave they were, the crowd surged towards either the broken window or the opposite exit. Mrs Bennet, first in line to escape, seized both Jane and Lydia.

"You mustn't fight, dear," addressing Jane, "Your beauty has been marred enough. And imagine if those wretched Goblins took off with my favourite!" She clutched Lydia so tightly to her breast that the girl could hardly break free.

"My!" exclaimed Kitty, who had decided to join in the upcoming battle, "Mary, I don't believe they are goblins at all. They indeed appear to be-"

"Kelpies." Mary said, her voice troubled. "Malevolent water creatures."

The lake outside the hall, usually so serene, was boiling and erupting with a violent unbridled passion. The plant life that and occupied the edge of the lake withered and fell at the touch of the acid water, that then proceeded to consume them entirely. Out of these waves stepped the Kelpie creatures, faces twisted and grotesque with mottled red skins. It could not be doubted where they were headed; the beginning of a long trail were marching solemnly towards the shattered glass.

Mary turned towards her sister Lizzy, the best among the family of warriors, but saw that she was barely in a fit state to defend; too weakened by her previous battle, too ashamed and feeble to yet properly stand. Mr Darcy stood among the crowd, a look of incredulous disbelief in his eyes, magic stick lowered and protective shield gone. Mary, for all her false intelligence, soon came to the conclusion that the room's most accomplished soldiers were useless for the significant future. She began to wrack her brains frantically to recall all of her knowledge on Kelpies; she knew that she had come across them several times during her hours in the library. "Of course," she breathed.

Mary turned to her sister Kitty, her cheeks unusually flushed; a sign that she had remembered something that would either bore all present company to death, or had remembered something actually useful. Fortunately, this time it was the latter. "Kitty!" she cried. "Kelpies are the goblins' main foot-soldiers. The goblins naturally do not want to sacrifice any of their own, as they are in far too much of a powerful position. So they use the kelpies in order to stage an attack upon their foes!"

Kitty, the absence of Lydia allowing her to be far more sensible than usual, laid a soft hand on her sister's arm. "Excellent, Mary," she gave a small, sad smile. "But a short history isn't going to help us defeat them."

The first of the kelpies had climbed through the window, and were entering the attack with an undisguised relish. Seemingly armed with the strength of ten or more men each, they did not need weapons in order to face their rivals; instead they merely grasped the nearest available limb and pulled. Skin and sinew tore almost effortlessly and chunks of bloody flesh littered the place. Mary noticed her father strip the nearest kelpie of one of his legs, yet the monster did not even seem to notice.

"Father!" she cried. "The Kelpies' flesh has adapted to numbness for the temperature of water in their habitat! They cannot feel pain and will continue to fight until they are dead!" Increasing amounts of the water-dwellers poured into the hall, and Mary defended herself the best she could - not looking to take the life of the opposition, but to save as many of her friends. She noticed, with some irritation, that while the best warriors in the room were still too weak to fight, her mother had taken the next best in her escape. It was down to her and Kitty, but dear me, Kitty was not fairing as well as Lydia would have done.

Mary was sure that she had read something fairly recently, a definitive method on how to successfully kill malignant aqueous-occupants. To her distress, she saw a kelpie tear off one of her father's ears as easily as if it were paper, but did not allow it to fully distract from her own thoughts. What was it? Some technique, something that she had never attempted and therefore had never learned….

As a kelpie reached for her face, Mary back-flipped deftly out of the way of grabbing hands, landing neatly by Mr Darcy. He had done nothing to aid in the battle, his numerous injuries from Elizabeth draining all strength and authority. He was on all fours, still in the centre-ring and too weak to even crawl, bleeding profusely. His magic stick lay limply in one hand, completely forgotten. "Dear God," he moaned, unsure of whom he was even addressing. "Help me." Lizzy lay in a near corner, unmoving and breathing shallowly. Mary had little time to grieve or worry. She snatched Darcy's magic stick, and directed it towards a kelpie who was currently occupied in gnawing the dead Mrs Lucci's nose.

"_Consarsi!" _

The wand sparked briefly, but the spell had none of its desired effects. Mary, tired from the days' events and consumed by an increasing horror of the massacre around her, felt tears begin to crystal in the corner of her eyes.

"Foolish girl," Mr Darcy had fixated his bleary gaze upon her, a grim smile in place. "Do not meddle with an art that you neither know of nor are accomplished in."

"_Consarsi, CONSARSI!" _An all too brief stream of smoke and spark of flame. It was true that the third Miss Bennet had not yet been trained in the art of magic, but it became obvious to her that perhaps she did not have the natural gift.

"_CONSARSI" _she became desperate.This time a plume of fire appeared from the tip of the magic stick, and struck the gnawing kelpie squarely in its' face. A wail of pure manic revulsion reverberated through the hall as the Kelpie's skin began to dissolve, its' eyes appeared to melt and finally burst into a storm of lightly acidic water drops.

"ALL THOSE WITH A MAGIC STICK," Mary screamed across the hall, "ALL THOSE WITH A MAGIC STICK PUT IT TO GOOD USE! YOU NEED TO EVAPORATE THEM! _CONSARSI!" _The magic stick she was clutching seemed to sputter, then die; a tool of sorcery is designed for one person only, and those unfamiliar with it, as well as not particularly gifted, drain the instrument of all possible future power. Mary, greatly weakened by her tussle with the unknown forces dropped to the flagstones.

The auditors, however, acted accordingly. Those with sticks, roughly about a fifth of those who were still alive, immediately had them to hand and began to scream the incantation in panic and pain. Yet it was a spell not known to many, and some had better luck than others. The humans were outnumbered greatly, and waves of more kelpies were continuing to enter the hall. Shrieks of agony and surprise perforated the walls; Bingley was alive but only just, using both his magic stick and sword against the kelpies that swarmed him; Mr Bennet successfully evaporated one kelpie, only to be attacked from behind…

A crackle of new found energy rose from the defeated souls. It surveyed the carnage, the wails of anguish and the soon to be inevitable defeat of Meryton.

"_Consarsi." _The word was not screamed or shrieked, but uttered with a calm command. Ribbons of flame encircled the room, each hitting the target of the kelpie's mottled and scaled solar-plexus'. Mary rolled to her side and gave a barely concealed gasp at what she saw. Both Darcy and Elizabeth, standing together, their bodies alight with a identical pulsating aura of light. They had spoken simultaneously, each one's power of the body and mind momentarily entwined. Without further ado, together chalk and cheese, peas in a pod, collapsed unconscious as the final, real, battle was won.

A gentle, yet firm hand took hold of Mary's and helped her to her feet. It was a gentleman that she recognised vaguely from other tournaments, but never had been told of his name or occupation. He was a man of good countenance and fairly handsome - his placid smile bore no threat unlike the muscles that bulged under his sparring gown.

"Mary Bennet." It was not a question. "Mr Reynolds. Charmed."

**For all those who have no idea what 'Consarsi' connotes, it is based on the Italian word 'condensarsi' which means 'condensation' :D. **


	7. The Prospect of Marriage

**Hey guys, back again moderately soon. Thanks for those who keep reading and the new readers! YIEQ I need to get to a computer for an extended period of time… My laptop has no internet, and I'm desperate to read your stories. I watched HMC again really recently, and I looked a bit like this: ='D. ANYWAY QUICK SUMMARY OF THE LAST CHAPTER: **

**Darcy and Elizabeth are still in stalemate **

**Lydia Bennet plays a prank**

**Darcy resorts to magic in order to beat Miss Bennet II **

**THE KELPIES ATTACK (Kelpies are the Goblin's foot-bitches) **

**Mary does something surprisingly useful… **

**Elizabeth and Darcy inadvertently save the day**

**A new romance? **

**If any of you feel that this chapter is too long, there is a TL;DR at the bottom of the page :P**

1

"Oh Papa! Do you think Lizzy is going to die?"

"I propose not, for she breathes well enough. Besides the good news should revive her."

The room was dim, the lighting only enhanced by a few candles on the windowsill that appeared to flicker with impatience. Elizabeth, carefully cleaned and in her night-gown, lay in the room she shared with Jane, her entire family gathered around her bed. Mrs Bennet did not weep as she would do for her favourite daughters, but acknowledged the required silence and with great effort said nothing. She worried for Lizzy or course, but deep in her breast was a great relief that neither Jane nor Lydia were lying in such motionlessness. She watched her second daughter, half concerned but growing bored. Finally, unable to contain herself any longer, she spoke of what had been mainly consuming her attention for the last few days.

"Mary, dear, what of Mr Reynolds? Have you found more about him? He is exceedingly fond of you, I am certain."

"Mama! Lizzy lies perhaps on her death-bed and you talk of a flighting fancy?" Mary blushed as she realised that already she had said too much. Mrs Bennet, notorious for her disability of selective hearing, would cast out such notions as 'Lizzy' and 'death-bed' immediately. What did she care of her least favourite daughter if the possibility of marriage was on its merry way?

"A fancy! I knew it so! Oh Mary, and to think I thought you were to be married second-to-last! Mr Reynolds in such a _charming_ gentleman… we must invite him to dinner at once! Kitty, go fetch the carriages! I will give him an invitation in person. Jane, get me some writing paper and ink! Eliza-"

"Lies still as you chatter, woman," said Mr Bennet with an ominous finality. Unfortunately, Mrs Bennet had taken no heed of ominous finalities since birth.

"As unhelpful as always! If she was not your favourite Mr Bennet, I would seriously consider casting her out onto the street! She seems to have no wish for marriage and certainly possesses no respect for her dear mother that has done her best. Kitty dear, don't linger! He may very well propose tonight!"

Kitty cast a final look at her sister and hurried from the room. Jane however, despite dismissal to fetch writing materials, chose not to stir, but clasped Elizabeth's hand all the more tightly. Her dearest sister and possibly her dearest friend, lying as still as the cold dead! If their father said she was not to die, then she believed him, but O! The possibilities of non-fatal damage were numerous.

"Lizzy," she whispered in her ear, "Dear Lizzy, do not prank us any longer. You were never one to demand all the attention, unlike our Lydia. Lizzy, you are _needed_."

"Jane!" Mrs Bennet hated the idea that she was being purposely disobeyed. "I will not tell you again to go and fetch writing paper and ink! Do you not care about your younger sister? Today has great importance! Mary, I insist you go and do your hair. I will send you in the carriage to go fetch Mr Reynolds, and you must bring him back to the house at once. I suppose he would like to sit and talk before dinner?" The woman blanched as she realised that the attention was still directed towards an unconscious Lizzy. "All of you, out! Dear Lizzy needs her rest. And you, Mr Bennet! Lizzy will not get better in a crowd."

The Bennet family took their leave, though all apart from Mrs Bennet were reluctant. Her husband still carried the bag of gold Elizabeth had won from the tournament, and he gently placed it beside her bed. Would she awake to revel in her fortune? He dearly hoped so, little Lizzy his dearest daughter and confidant. He was now too old, too weak and cynical to endure such a tedious afternoon chatting with a stranger who no doubt possessed more brawn than brains. He would not press Mr Reynolds to marry Mary, for this, despite her looks and manner, would not her only opportunity to find love. He himself had been rather overshadowed as a child, and the life he led was not disagreeable - despite views to the contrary. Yet he yearned for more for his daughters, for them to have the life he could never have hoped for. The Reynolds gentleman was probably overly impressed by Mary's little stunt at the tournament, and such emotions always waned.

"Eliza, I wish you would wake and tell me what your opinions are. I am never the best when it comes to daughterly advice, though I sincerely hope I make a better job of it than your mother."

2

The carriage rumbled over the uneven road, potholes disguised by rainwater that was dropping heavily though the villages. Mary shuddered at each splash, drawing her shawl tighter around her shoulders. How she hated water now! Her achievement had made her more wary than brave – a wise life lesson that she did not yet recognise. In her other hand she clutched two small daggers in case of kelpies, though she knew now that these could only stall rather than stop them.

However, the carriage reached town without any sign of unfriendly forces. Mary, though, barely relaxed. Since the tournament a week ago, she had seen Mr Reynolds twice; although she possessed a deepening fancy her nature was to be shy, and the barrier between her and the man had not been broken yet. Mr Bingley had come recently to visit in order, said he, to see Lizzy, yet it was really Jane's company he hankered after. He had said that Mr Darcy had reached a very similar predicament to Elizabeth and could not yet return to Pemberly Hall. This had given all, particularly Jane and Mr Bennet, Mary supposed, some comfort.

"Miss Bennet?" The carriage had come to a halt, and the driver helped her down with one hand, the other clutching a large cream envelope. "Shall I leave this for you to give Mr Reynolds, Miss? Or would you like me to escort you?"

Mary, slightly flustered at the thought of being so alone with the man, assured the driver that his company was quite necessary and proper. So, trailing in his shadow, they made their way down the drive and to the front door. It was modest yet grand and one Mary felt was slightly imposing. She hoped that he would not be the one to answer the knock.

A timid maid answered, and showed them through to the drawing room at once. Mr Reynolds was seated at his desk, giving the impression that he was deep at work when in fact he was doing nothing. An outside man by nature, he had the habit of peering through the curtains and sighing when the weather fared no better. He was a man that liked solitude and his own thoughts, free to wonder amongst the trees and fields, to train wherever and whenever he pleased. He was also fond of Mary Bennet, of whom he expected enjoyed solitude as much as he did.

"Mary Bennet for you, Sir," the maid curtseyed and exited.

"Good afternoon, Mr Reynolds."

"Miss Bennet, what a pleasure!" He kissed her hand, and bade her sit in the chair opposite his. "And… a rather daunting-looking envelope." He nodded to the driver. "If you would like to go to the kitchen, Sir, I'm sure there are numerous delightful refreshments to be offered." The smile was returned with a short bow, and Mary was left with her fancy and coyness.

"I thought you were never to visit," the tone was light and playful, though his face was half serious. "It seemed that I was far more keen than you were, and Mary, I was heartbroken."

"Not at all, Sir. Though I must confess that I came for other reasons than your company."

"Ah! The envelope! Yes, of course." He tore open the letter on his desk with hands that looked as if they could break stone. "Dinner? Tonight?"

"I'm afraid that my mother insists on it."

Mr Reynolds however, was not looking at Mary, but seemed to be studying the letter with more attention than strictly needed. "That sounds perfectly charming," he said, finally, but the puzzlement could not be kept out of his tone. "I shall have to be dressed properly, of course."

"Mr Reynolds…" Mary, the underdog, was certainly not blind to other people's emotions. "Is there something the matter?"

He assured her that nothing was the matter at all, though his heart had begun to beat wildly in his chest. Mary had many sisters, and a mother and father who were still alive and fairly respectable, he knew. The prospect of spending an evening with lively, talkative people such as these filled him with the usual horror of company he usually possessed. Mary Bennet was a quiet thing, someone who would not invade his thoughts or demand constant attention; someone who he felt comfortable with after years of searching for one as introverted as himself. For you see, though Mr Reynolds was a Master of his Art, strong and accomplished, he had a nature that was prone to a crippling privacy; one that manifested itself in several odd ways.

So long had Mr Reynolds had been lost in his thoughts, Mary Bennet had decided that, despite his assurances, he was not willing to spend more time with her or her family. She rose unsteadily to her feet, cursing herself for developing feelings for a man that evidently used 'heartbroken' with too much ease. "I- I understand you not wanting to come, Mr Reynolds. It was rather a surprise invitation and we have not known each other too long. Good day, Sir." She turned before she could allow herself to cry, her consciousness turning itself to all the Greek and Hebrew phrases she knew as a distraction.

She hurried from the drawing room, and went in search of the kitchen in order to find the driver, but in her misery the house had become a maze. How Lydia will laugh, thought she, for Lydia always told me that no man would ever be able to bear my looks or temperament. She turned into another corridor, no idea where she was, and was dismayed to see another row of locked doors. The light was barely sufficient here, with no windows – clearly she had long passed the heart of the house. Mary turned on her heel to walk back in the direction she came from, and almost ran straight into Mr Reynolds who had dressed in his best clothes.

The transformation was astounding. Although he was never to be as handsome as Mr Bingley or indeed that ghastly Darcy, his best was clearly tailor-made and very rarely worn. The colour grey in his suit was not too dark to make his face look paper white, and neither was it too dark to take attention from his black hair which was now down rather than tied. The cut of his clothes both enhanced his muscles and made him look slim and slender, his great height reasserted as his muscular-bulk had the habit of making him look shorter than he really was. The effect was wonderfully simple, and wonderfully alluring. Mary found she could do nothing but gape at the man who had so unexpectedly appeared before her.

"Mary." Mr Reynolds gave a slightly sheepish laugh. "I was horribly rude, I should have given you a full tour of the house. Yet I thought we were going out?"

"You didn't want to come." She felt the need to reaffirm herself in some way, to hide the surprise and longing she found herself revelling in, the fancy that anchored itself even more forcefully. The man wasn't even charming, he had been terribly rude to her, yet the surprise change had done something to touch her heart. Had the man not meant to be as cold as he had appeared? Perhaps the easy charm displayed by other gentlemen did not come as easily to him?

"I acted appallingly, my lady. My father always said I was never quick enough with my manners, and I treat it as a personal failing of mine. I would be enchanted if you would escort me to your abode."

The rain that fell through Meryton as they drove in the carriage was suddenly a lot less alarming to Mary Bennet.

3

"Mr Bennet, I do believe I see a carriage! Oh, girls! Hurry quick and sit down! Kitty, dear, try and look intelligent and pretend to read a book. Jane, take out your sewing. Lydia… decorate that bonnet of yours. Remember girls, we must look entirely _natural._ We're not expecting anyone at all!"

"But you sent out the invitation, mama! And we never usually have a three course dinner. We never usually even have dessert."

"_Book, _Kitty!" Mrs Bennet sang, picking up a packet of cards for herself. "Join me in a short game, Mr Bennet?" Mr Bennet shook his head and lit his pipe. He must press Jane to give her opinion after the man left, yet she thought so well of everybody that Reynolds could be a buffoon and she would still compliment his intelligence.

"Oh! He's here! Here he comes! _Book, _Kitty!"

The maid was heard welcoming both into the house, and the sound of rapid footsteps were coming quickly towards the front-room. Mr Bennet lifted his eyes towards the ceiling; the barrier between that room and the room where Lizzy rested. She wouldn't be sorry she had missed this, he was sure, for she hated spending excessive time with her mother and sisters. Yet her natural curiosity and judgement of others would have made her determined to sit it out and discuss it with her father afterwards. She was far more sensible than the others, and would have given a firm and straightforward opinion that not even he could justify or match. How he wished that Lizzy would wake just in time for supper!

"Mr Reynolds and Miss Bennet, Sir, Madam." The maid curtseyed and left, leaving a rain-speckled Mr Reynolds to make the family's acquaintance.

It was just as Mr Bennet had feared. The suit was cleverly made, of course, but it could not hide the bulging muscles of the man, of which Mr Bennet was sure would turn to fat later in life. For a gentleman the hair was too long, his skin too naturally pale for a one that spent so much time outdoors. He had the look of a plain man that was trying his best to be handsome, and the wide rabbit-eyes showed off all his ignorance. He was not to be lively company this evening; though Mr Bennet usually hated his meals being interrupted, he always felt scorn for a man that could not entertain at the dinner table.

It was just as Mrs Bennet had wanted. The suit was _exquisitely _made, and probably cost several hundred pounds to tailor. That meant the man was rich, and would be a perfect husband for one of her girls. His hair could almost be described as effeminate, which showed that he knew how to access feminine feelings, so he would be a perfect companion for Mary when she was in one of her funny moods. The muscles – O the muscles – were perfect for any red-blooded woman's taste, and he could protect ardently her little girl. Best of all was the slightly oblivious air that surrounded him – he wasn't too intelligent, nor then he could be too witty, and therefore Mrs Bennet wouldn't be threatened with meaningful conversation at the dinner table.

Mr Reynolds was left with the growing instinct to flee the house, with or without Mary. A man that had spent so long in the ring that he recognised first impressions like he would the back of his own hand, calculated that Mr Bennet had not taken to him at all, while Mrs Bennet had taken to him far too much. His shyness, he realised, would be expressed as ignorance to the head of the household, and as sweet-naivety to the vice. As he was undoubtedly neither of these things, a familiar emotion began to swim through Reynolds' veins: an emotion that he used in the ring and that was dangerous if not controlled. It was not violent, you must understand, for Mr Reynolds was only violent when strictly needed, and not by nature, but it was wild, passionate and had the ability to clear any room.

"Mr Bennet," he strolled over and shook the head Bennet's hand, who already seemed surprised by this show of initiative. "I thank you for inviting me to your home. Though, by all suggestion, I suppose that it was Mrs Bennet who actually made the offer?" He gave his smile to Mrs Bennet, and his handsomeness was finally acclaimed by all – particularly by the eldest woman.

"No, no," the woman squawked, overcome by his unnatural charm. "Mr Bennet was delighted at the prospect of having you for dinner!"

"Mr Bennet's delight is not easily shown on his face - commendable, for if he was too excited, I would think him too trusting to be the warrior we've all heard him to be." Two sets of male eyes locked. Was the man suggesting a duel, wondered Mr Bennet, or was that a compliment? He decided on the latter and gave a small smile, which Reynolds returned with warmth. The man was sharper than Mr Bennet first supposed, though it was barely complimentary to be sharper than an oxen.

The dinner started with a root-vegetable soup. Mr Reynolds complimented the food and the cook, providing many anecdotes about his life in the ring as they ate. He kept a noticeable distance from Mary, not choosing the seat next to hers, but rather choosing to sit in Lizzy's place next to Kitty and Jane. If Mary was hurt or perplexed, she chose not to show it, eating her soup carefully so not to spill anything and saying next to nothing at all.

"Charming!" Mrs Bennet squeaked, on several occasions. "Charming!"

"My dear Madam, I am no Prince for I have neither the manner nor the looks. But you may refer to me as 'charming' if you see fit to do so." The smile, the squawk. It was if the man was sought on seducing the mother rather than her third daughter. Mr Bennet wanted to laugh. The gentleman was not as touched with cynicism as Mr Bennet liked perhaps, but he was wittier than expected.

"You must tell me," Mrs Bennet breathed, the wine with dinner making her bold, "What do you think of marriage?"

"Mama!" cried Mary, horrified.

"Marriage, Mrs Bennet? To you it would be a crime, and not only because you're already taken."

The grin on Mrs Bennet's face faltered slightly as she tried to process this curious remark.

"On the whole, I view marriage as an experience, yes, but as for a lifetime commitment I see it as being impossible. All those who say that marriage is for life are right in the same way that a serious prison sentence is for life – all misery, but your meals are provided for. Love within a marriage, however, is like taking an extended holiday from your baser instincts. You have to share your secrets and experiences, and for a short time that is thrilling. And yet the holiday ends, and you have no money to return home. So you're stranded on a strange island, you're not particularly fond of the natives and you're expected to carry on sharing your all with them. We're all quite selfish by nature, Mrs Bennet, yet some are more at ease denying it."

The silence around the table was only punctuated by Mrs Bennet's heavy breathing. Jane kept her eyes on her plate, while Kitty and Lydia stared at each other in amazement. Mary's eyes, on the other hand, were fixed to Mr Reynolds, an unfathomable expression sitting queerly on her face.

"Bravo!" Mr Bennet clapped his hands. "Well done, Sir! You have expressed the very opinion I have been too afraid to say for years!"

"I see, a joke." Mrs Bennet laughed too, "How clever of you, Mr Reynolds." She got to her feet. "I must check Lizzy, she is still unconscious I'm afraid." She hurried from the dining room, though all knew she wasn't the slightest bit interested in Elizabeth. What an odd young man! He had seemed so naïve, yet he was far too sharp for her little Mary. Though it was a joke, of course. _Of course. _

Jane, Kitty and Lydia retired to the main-room to carry on with their sewing/bonnet-decorating/false book-reading, leaving Mary, Mr Reynolds and Mr Bennet in the dining room.

"Care to take a turn around the garden, Mr Reynolds?" said Mr Bennet, getting to his feet. "It is rather wet, I'm afraid, but the flowers are in full bloom. Perhaps you can tell me more on your philosophies on life. How about…" he cast around for a general social subject, "Friendship?"

"Friendship is a charming notion, but is often quite false. In friendship you are required to take a little, give a little and agree with each other. I give merrily enough, I take with downright pleasure, but it is not in my nature to truly agree with anybody."

"Bravo!" cried Mr Bennet. "Splendid!"

"I'll take Mr Reynolds round the garden, papa." Mary thrust her arm into his and dragged him out into the rose-orchards.

4

"I think your father rather likes me," Mr Reynolds started haltingly, his relief at being out of so much company showing clearly in his countenance, as he took in the definite beauty of the blooms and the lushness of the grass accentuated by the recent rain.

"Really?" replied Mary, her voice low. "For I thought you were perfectly awful and I never want to see you again."

"Whatever do you mean?" Mr Reynolds cried, his admiration of the greenery completely forgotten. He clasped Mary firmly by the arms. "Mary, tell me what you mean. Why would you never want to see me again?"

"You upset my mother, and you reduced even Lydia to silence with your awful remarks. Poor Jane would not even know what to think. I expect you thought you were being ever so clever being so charming at first, tricking us into thinking you have the most perfect of natures, then spoiling it all with your 'philosophical' views. And worst of all you made _me_ look a fool with all your talk on marriage! You honestly believe that marriage is a prison sentence? Or perhaps it was only the prospect of marriage to me to which you were referring?"

"Mary, it is far too early to be talking of marriage at any stage!" The rain had started to fall again, though lightly enough that it was barely noticed.

"Too early? If I wanted to get married to you, which I certainly don't, then all my hopes would have been cruelly crushed by your little speech. Was this courtship a joke? Did you mean to humiliate me in such a way – or were you merely 'taking with downright pleasure' what you could before you decided to lay this little dirt-load at my feet?"

"But I've never done anything to you."

"Apart from raise all my hopes, only to crush them as if they were bothersome insects! Do you really think all those terrible things you said, Mr Reynolds? For if you do you are a bitter and twisted man, with not a drop of genuine love in your heart!"

"Mary, you should know I didn't mean a word… It is me, my personality, I can't get by too well with others in my normal state and in company I try my very best to be what I am not."

"You are a man of disgusting pretences then, and I have no wish to be affiliated with such. You think it is difficult to be in superior company, try growing up with four other sisters, all of whom surpass me in looks and nature. Goodbye, Mr Reynolds, I am so glad you took so well to my father."

She shook herself from the gentleman's grasp and hurried towards the house as thunder rolled above her head.

Mr Reynolds stood stunned as beaded rain flowed down his forehead, his good shoes muddied in the wet grass. He never realised that marriage meant quite so much, yet he acknowledged with hindsight that his words had been cruel. He chased after Mary, his cravat falling to the ground, yet he did not stop to pick it up. "Mary!" He snatched at her hand, feeling the delicate paleness beneath his own strong fingers.

"I have nothing to say, Mr Reynolds, so if you would-"

He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks and finally her lips, trembling with fear that she would walk away after all this, for though he loved solitude, he was fond of the one who so mirrored the real him. He was so afraid - his first kiss to one he had barely met and still barely knew. Mary did not push him off as he half expected, but accepted the kiss with dignity, though giving nothing of herself. He drew away and wished to clasp her, yet he was frightened of what he had done and cowered at the prospective consequences.

"That was highly improper, Dorian."

Mary hurried up to the steps, without looking back, and shut herself into the house.

**Whoa- very long chapter. Sorry to all the people who were expecting awesome humour this time around – writing about Mary is kinda humourless. I promise that it'll be an Elizabeth chapter next time!**

**TL;DR: **

"**Oh Lizzy, don't die that would be awful!"**

"**You must invite Mr Reynolds round for tea."**

"**You are invited to tea."**

"**But I'm so shy! ARGH!"**

"**You are charming Mr Reynolds!"**

"**You are delightful Mr Reynolds!"**

"**Actually I'm an utter bastard."**

"**You **_**are**_** a bastard, I hate you!"**

"**I'm not a bastard really, I was only pretending!"**

**End of Chap 7**


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